Changelings Book1 Dragons & Demons

Chapter 8

Belthor travelled eastwards, leaving Ness and the only hope for the future behind. He was sure the omens were right and that Jack would prove to be a worthy hero.

Two days had passed since the lad had taken the flask, but so much had taken place. Three words of power had been uttered and the speakers killed or worse, and now Demons stalked the land.

He had trekked almost constantly since leaving Ness, surviving on very little sleep, recharging his energy through meditation and prayer.

Now Belthor stood, a solitary figure on the high ridge, the stiff breeze flapping his robe like a sail. He leaned wearily on his staff surveying the sweeping grasslands ahead. The morning sun reflected in the mighty river Ulfen. From those heights it appeared to be a shining snake slithering from the distant Giant's Teeth all the way to the sea, far to the south. The huge river split the country in two, crossable only in one place; the amazing city of Ulfenspan.

For fourteen years Belthor had scoured the lands east and west of the Ulfen. He was sure beyond all doubt that Lailoken was hidden in the west of the country, which meant that the Demons would have to cross the river before passing on to the Capital. There the High Council of Magic convened. All the Gathering spells had been sent, and answered swiftly, so he hoped that they would act with haste.

Belthor muttered to himself angrily. "Debate and time wasting."

He had decided long ago that the Council was too encased in ritual and pompous ceremony, and that the land and people needed his ministrations more than they did. Belthor had warned them of Lailoken's interests; his secretive nature and his unsuitability for acceptance into the Mage University in Darkhaven. Yet they did not take his warnings seriously; till the braking of the first binding a few days before.

Their heedlessness saddened Belthor, for he knew that many would pay for their ignorance, but the pain of their inaction was nothing compared to the hurt his soul suffered continually; for Lailoken was his own beloved son.

He took a deep shuddering breath; steeling himself before pacing resolutely down the grassy slope towards the river.

The sun was sinking into the late afternoon sky, as the vast towers of Ulfenspan rose into view. Seven huge buildings grew from the swift river, each housing a different noble family and their minions. The common folk were housed on the open road joining each tower, hundreds of houses lining the bridge-tops linking the towers.

Belthor marvelled at the sheer size of the construction, as he did each time he crossed.

An enormous drawbridge was landed on the west bank. Chains, with each link bigger than a man, rose into the entrance and the huge portcullis hung open. Belthor was horrified to discover the west gate unguarded. Surely they have been warned, he thought angrily. He hurried inside, and was immediately stopped in his tracks.

His innate sixth sense told him danger was near.

The wide, stone steps rose into the building, and stopped at a huge pair of closed, iron-bound, wooden doors. He climbed the steps slowly, offering a prayer of protection to Danu.

The faint click of his staff on the worn stone was the only sound he could hear, that and his own laboured breathing. Ulfenspan usually rang with a vivacious hubbub; but as Belthor stopped at the doors the silence disturbed him immensely.